


Divination of His Heart

by mznaughty01



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, M/M, Top Jared, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depraved vampire meets his lifemate in an innocent.</p><p>This fic is a reboot of a story I wrote a few years back which featured original characters of mine. Now done J2 style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_October 31, 1815_  
 _London, England_

It was old and, worse yet, dirty. Truly, at first glance, except for the excessive amount of filth which filled each and every one of its cracks and crevices, it appeared to be most unremarkable.

In spite of his disdain, Jensen couldn't force his eyes away from the object his twin sister had just moments before flung onto his bed after rushing into his bedchamber unannounced. It was a hand mirror. At least he thought it might have been, once upon a long time ago, but he hadn't quite made up his mind yet that a person was supposed to gaze into the ghastly object's reflective depths with hopes to catch an accurate likeness of their visage.

Intrigued, Jensen dropped down into a crouch at the foot of his bed to get a better look. The first thing he noticed was that some of the dirt had broken free of a home it had probably known for years. He flicked the dried specks of mud to the floor as he continued with his perusal. The second thing to attract his attention was the fact that the round mirrored portion appeared to be made of a thin layer of dull gold rather than glass. And that, at present, it reflected a wavy, distorted image of his ceiling, solidifying his opinion on the value of using the mirror _as_ a mirror. The next thing he observed was the ornate, carved handle. Though he had no doubt the ivory had once gleamed creamy and bright, it was now a former glory of itself with its sickly shade of dirt encrusted yellow.

The last thing to impress itself upon Jensen's cognizance was the nature of the carvings. Shocked, he studied them for several long moments, sure he had taken leave of his senses. There was no way he could be seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The images were disturbing.

And, yet, oddly fascinating.

Men. Naked. Involved in various levels of debauchery. With one another.

The most compelling scene depicted the naked form of a large man pressed close to the back of his unclothed lover. And were his—by God, the man's teeth _were_ buried in the neck of the smaller man.

" _Jensen Ross Ackles_!"

Jensen's attention jerked to his sister. For the millionth time, he marveled that to be so dainty she possessed a set of lungs to make the town crier weep with envy. From the put upon expression gracing her face, he knew she must have called out to him several times already, but all to no avail. "I do apologize, Mac, but your _gift_ has left me rather speechless." As an afterthought, he added, "And don't call me Ross."

"It's not a gift for you, you idiotic lummox."

The relief which coursed through Jensen was immense. If it had been a gift, he hadn't the faintest idea how he was supposed to have expressed his gratitude. With a mud pie, perhaps? Somehow he didn't think a simple _thank you_ would have sufficed. "Thank the lord for small favors. I was sure I was going to have to wait until you'd retired for the evening before burying that thing out back. And if you insist on calling me a name that's not my own, I prefer handsome lummox."

Somewhere beneath the voluminous folds of a powder blue gown, one slipper covered foot tapped out an impatient beat. "And if it had been a gift, what exactly would you have told me, Jenny, when I'd asked you to borrow it? Because you do realize I surely would have asked you to borrow it one day? Just to spite you because your distaste is so clear."

Standing, Jensen flashed a cheeky grin. "Why, I would have told you a fib, of course. That it was lost. Misplaced by mistake."

"Pfft, you know you can't lie to me. I know you better than you know yourself." MacKenzie tossed a burnt golden curl the same shade as Jensen’s own unruly curls over a slim shoulder and green eyes the color of the purest jade just like Jensen’s own sparked at him in anger. "I've been pouring out my heart to you for the past five minutes, yet you haven't heard one word I’ve said, have you? You idiotic oaf."

He hadn't. But contrary to the charming endearments his sister bestowed on him with so much love, Jensen Ross Ackles was no fool. So he knew better than to admit his faux paus.

Jensen loved and adored his twin and was leagues closer to her than to their only other living relative. But since much earlier in the year, at the onset of the season which had coincided with the final stage of MacKenzie’s drastic transformation, their relationship, out of necessity, had changed. Just twelve short months ago, MacKenzie had been capable of ferreting out the most sordid of gossip with ease, handling a temperamental horse with more adeptness than a head groomsman, swam like she’d been born to the water and, in general, had been able to search out all manners of mischief with an astounding precision.

In short, she'd been a hoyden.

Now she was, on the surface, an exquisitely coifed, always polished, gently bred young lady of the _ton_. Who Jensen encouraged to dedicate all of her attention to finding a respectable husband before their all too short time in the city came to an end and they were forced to return to their country home in defeat. It was Jensen’s duty to see his sister wedded off and he was determined that it would happen...even though, in his unexpressed personal opinion, marrying was for fools, a thought he'd subscribed to after having had his heart dallied with, then broken, by a well-to-do widow. Lady Sandy's shrill shrieks of laughter to his foolish public proclamations of everlasting love, and her cruel statements that he should aim much lower, still haunted Jensen and caused him pained embarrassment on occasion.

"Loud as you are, God almighty up above in heaven can probably hear you right now so of course _I_ can hear your bellowing as you stand not even two steps from me."

"Idiotic liar."

Jensen didn't take exception to the latter part of the insult as it was the truth. As accused, he'd missed every word of MacKenzie's tirade and had no clue as to why she was so worked up. Regardless of what actually had her concerned, Jensen thought it prudent to steer the conversation towards a subject his sister _should_ be worried about, although he was aware she probably wasn't. "The little season is almost finished, MacKenzie. And we have to take advantage of every opportunity now. You should be getting ready for tonight's ball. And I guess I can settle for lummox, oaf, or even liar, if you promise to drop the idiotic part."

"Why should I bother, Jenny?"

"Because I find that I take grave exception to the verbal abusing of my ability to undertake reasoning of a higher sort."

With a roll of her eyes, MacKenzie said, "Not that. I want to know why I should bother going to the ball at all. It's hopeless. Just about every last one of my friends received an offer earlier in the year. But not me. At this point, I think it's clear marriage is not to be a part of my destiny."

The biggest reason for MacKenzie's failure to land a husband thus far was because she, like Jensen, was almost a penniless pauper, thanks to the massive amount of debt resulting from their elder brother's squandering of the meager wealth left after their parents' death in a horrific carriage accident. Added to that fact was the reality that MacKenzie, like Jensen, was nothing more than the titleless, landless, youngest offspring of a lowly baron the _ton_ had never quite forgiven for his scandalous marriage to his favorite servant. The only reason MacKenzie had had her season at all was a result of what must've been Joshua's last strain of restraint. He hadn't whored, drunk or gambled her trousseau away, instead pressing Jensen into using the funds to hire a companion to teach their sister everything she needed to know about being a proper lady. The remainder had been used to rent Jensen and MacKenzie a horribly expensive townhouse in the fashionable part of the city, to hire only the staff necessary to man the townhouse and to outfit MacKenzie with all the silk gowns, lace gloves and satin slippers needed to complete the misleading appearance of affluence.

In Jensen's opinion, which was admittedly biased, his sister had been among the most beautiful, if not _the_ most beautiful, presented during the season. But she was still poor, of mixed blood, and now not even coming to her marriage with a dowry. And the snobbish members of the _ton_ knew it and held it against her.

And there was nothing MacKenzie, nor Jensen, could do about it.

There was also a lesser known reason Jensen held responsible for MacKenzie's lack of success to draw an offer to date...a reason which had less to do with their dire finances, and unsavory pedigree, and more to do with her herself. To be specific, her personality. Her cantankerous, oftentimes very unladylike, personality that no amount of training could rid her of.

Jensen approached his sister, wishing he possessed the ability to solve all of their problems in that very instant. And the ability to save them from the very real possibility of debtor's gaol. Because he would. In a heartbeat. He would prefer their rescue came at his sacrifice rather than that of his twin. But life just didn't work that way, as demonstrated by Lady Sandy. MacKenzie's chances of making the much needed match outpaced those of Jensen's by a long shot.

Placing an arm around her shoulders, Jensen drew her near and squeezed tight as he consoled, "Your turn is coming. Soon. You just have to be patient. Just for a little while longer."

She laid her head against his shoulder. "Do you really think that's what I'm upset about, Jenny?"

He stroked the silken threads flowing down her back and asked, "About what do you speak, Mac?"

"Do you really think I'm upset over the prospect of not having yet found some buffoon of a man to tie myself to for the rest of what will surely be my miserable life?"

"No, I don't think the lack of finding is what's causing you trouble. I think it's the thought of being a biddable wife to the buffoon that bothers you." Jensen gave his sister a playful shove. "Now do tell what that piece of dirt is you've deposited on my bed, dear sister. I'm not overly fond of the thought of sleeping with all the worms and maggots crawling off of it."

She whirled to face him, expression thunderous and irritation flashing bright in her eyes. "Biddable? _Biddable_!"

"Obedient, compliant, submissive," Jensen elaborated, quick to step out of range when she tried to wallop him upside the head. "Now tell me what that thing is? From whence did it come? And why in God's name, and let me make absolutely clear that this is the question I'm most interested in having answered, is it on my bed?"

"Biddable," she repeated once more in outrage, shaking her head in disgust. With a flounce of silken skirts, she perched on the edge of his bed, next to the hand mirror. "It's used for scrying."

"One question down, two to—it's used for _what_?"

"Do stop yelling, Jenny. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my hearing. And I said it's used for scrying." Imitating his earlier glibness, MacKenzie said, "Divination, seeing the future, fortune telling."

"I am perfectly aware of _what_ scrying is. But what I am not aware of is what my sister is doing with a mirror allegedly used for that purpose. And please do not tell me you've taken up divination as some sort of pastime."

Cocking her head to one side, affecting a thoughtful pose, she said, "We _could_ use the money."

"MacKenzie," Jensen warned. He could just imagine the disgrace which would follow if the _ton_ thought his sister had taken up a devil's hobby. That it was all foolish nonsense wouldn't matter in the least. What would matter is that her slim chances of marriage would become nil.

"What?" she asked.

"Respectable ladies do not work. But if it came to that end, and you had to, then you should seek employment as a lady's companion or as a nanny. But working as a teller of the future is absolutely out of the question."

"Guess I have to admit, then, the true purpose of the mirror."

"Which is?"

"I've found when the sun is at its zenith and if the mirror is held just so, I can start a fire...or, at the very least, cause a person a bit of warming discomfort."

"And who would you be wanting to discomfort?"

A too innocent expression blanketed her face. "No one."

Jensen wasn't fooled for one second. "You are to stay away from Eliza, MacKenzie, do you understand me?"

"If it wasn't for _Eliza_ , Jenny, I'd be wed to Baron Collins instead of her, and all of our problems already solved. Truthfully, I still don't know what the big deal was. Horses are meant to be rode, after all."

"Yes, little sister, they are," Jensen agreed, feeling just a touch of amusement. He couldn't help himself...on first meeting Eliza, Jensen had also immediately noticed her long face bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a mare. "But some horses have a higher value than others. Especially those horses who are the human, virginal daughters of matchmaking mamas. If he hadn't married her, Eliza's reputation would have been in tatters after their...gallop."

" _Supposed_ virginal daughter," MacKenzie corrected with a meaningful glance. "If you'd heard what I'd heard, you'd be doubtful of her purity also." Her gaze turned to the mirror as she stroked the handle in reverence with the tip of a finger. "This mirror is very old."

"You don't say." Jensen’s tone was just the slightest bit dry.

"Scoff if you want. But this is a priceless artifact. I have it on good authority it's been around since ancient Egypt. A gift to Cleopatra when she was ten and six, just two years younger than we are now, from one of her besotted lovers. He ordered it made special for her."

Jensen stared at the handle his sister caressed with such adoration. "I honestly don't think the man who ordered the commissioning of that thing was smitten with any part of Cleopatra, except for, maybe, the power she wielded. Now, Mark Antony, he was probably a different story."

MacKenzie's attention snapped to him. She regarded him with a fair amount of disbelief. "I don't believe it."

"You don't believe what?" Jensen asked, unsettled by her close scrutiny.

"That you _do_ have a sense of humor. I'd heard the rumors, but immediately dismissed them all as being frivolous, of course."

"Of course." Jensen shook his head in exasperation. "Proceed with your tale, Mac."

"Very well," she conceded, a small smile curving her lips. "It's said Cleopatra saw her whole life in this mirror. She foresaw her marriage to Ptolemy and the fierce struggle for power which resulted afterwards. She foresaw her relationship with Julius Caesar and, later, Mark Antony." She paused and in that short time it was all too clear to Jensen that his sister believed the ridiculous prattle she rattled off. "It's even said it was in this very mirror that she saw the idea to smuggle herself inside of a rug to Julius Caesar."

"She saw all of _that_ in that very mirror, hmm?"

"It boggles the mind, does it not? If the stories are true, then it means I am in possession of the object the most powerful woman to ever rule Egypt drew all her knowledge from." MacKenzie's sigh was dreamy.

Jensen's snort was incredulous. "Yes, I do suppose that is one way to look at it."

"What other way _is_ there to look at it?"

"That it is a worthless piece of clod ignorant young girls make up fanciful stories about. And it's also in dire need of resodding. Some insect is without its home right now."

"I am not ignorant!" In a rage, MacKenzie shot off of the bed. "You—you—"

"Idiotic oafish lummox of a liar," Jensen supplied.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." She stomped to the door and yanked it open.

Before she passed under the archway, Jensen reminded, "You still haven’t told me, yet, what it is that _you_ hoped to see in it."

"It is of no consequence now," she answered, back to him. "But if you must know, Lauren Rosenbaum gave it to me at the Wellings' soiree. Said she'd heard rumors of its existence for years and when she finally determined the rumors to be true, she set out on a mission to discover its location. She eventually found it several All Hallows Eves past, buried in the garden of a certain Dame she refused to name. She dug it up from its resting place and, following tradition, looked into it that very day...and saw Viscount Rosenbaum's face in it next to hers. The next day he offered for her. I took the mirror with broad hopes that if it didn't show me my future husband, it would at least show me a prosperous venture in which to invest. Or how to overthrow the monarchy." At Jensen's gasp, MacKenzie added, "Oh, come off it, Jensen. You know as well as I do that our current monarch leaves a lot to be desired."

" _MacKenzie_! You had better not let anyone _ever_ hear you speak—"

"Never fear, brother, the chances of me repeating my blasphemous opinions in the presence of others is equal to the chances of you becoming our next king. Our reputations as dutiful subjects are safe. For the demned thing showed me nothing at all."

Jensen stared at the door his sister had clicked shut after her departing form, ruminating on the implication of her words. Viscountess Lauren Rosenbaum had claimed to see the face of Viscount Michael Rosenbaum when she'd gazed into its depths a number of years ago on this very day. It was obvious to Jensen what MacKenzie Ackles, penniless sister of Baron Joshua Ackles, had seen when she'd looked into it. A beautiful face with wide green eyes filled with rapidly departing optimism.

Seemed to him that Viscountess Rosenbaum had made a cruel play on his sister's desperateness. Which didn't fit with the sweet, caring temperament the lady was very careful to maintain at all times while in polite society. But that just went to show the extreme lengths the members of the _ton_ undertook to fit in by causing the humiliation of another by any means necessary, didn't it. Plus, Viscountess Rosenbaum was a close friend to Lady Sandy so Jensen knew not to expect better of her.

Anger surged as Jensen thought of how the two respectable ladies had probably had a good laugh at MacKenzie's expense. They were, even now, more than likely spreading malicious rumors of MacKenzie's midnight assignations with the Prince of Darkness and his evil minions.

Although MacKenzie always made it a point to act like the grim reality of their dire situation didn't affect her, Jensen knew it did. And she'd just had it all but slapped in her face. There was nothing Jensen could do about that now...but he could make sure another unsuspecting innocent never fell prey to the same malicious prank. He would forbid MacKenzie to speak of the mirror to another soul.

And he would destroy it. Yes, that's exactly what he would do. Then he would burn the mirror’s remains.

Jensen strode to his bed and grabbed the ivory handle. He swung the hand mirror upwards, ready to bring it to its harrowing end by smashing it against the oak post of his bed. But, before he could carry out the destructive downswing, the weak light of the early evening streamed through the open damask draperies covering his windows and reflected against the golden surface right into his eyes, drawing Jensen’s gaze to the mirror.

A startled shout erupted from his throat as Jensen caught sight of his reflection. With a vicious curse, he hurled the malignant object across the room where it landed face down, unharmed and in one piece, on the soft Aubusson rug.

Aghast, he stared at it, mind unwilling to process the image his eyes had just seen.

*

"Is that you, Jared?"

"But of course." Jared Padalecki, the Duke of Williamton, turned to face the masked hostess of the masquerade ball. Bending over the proffered hand, he pressed a chaste kiss to its back, then straightened while taking in the Duchess of Dunbar’s massive form, made even larger by the layers and layers of white and gold fabric which cloaked it. He studied her for several moments before conceding to defeat in his attempt to determine what her costume was supposed to be, other than ridiculous. "You look absolutely exquisite."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," the Duchess returned once her hand had been relinquished back to her person. Eyelashes fluttering, she asked, "Don't I make the most fetching Cleopatra?"

With extreme effort, Jared managed to keep his bark of laughter lodged in his throat. "The most."

"Thank you, dear. And I'm really glad you could make it tonight."

"You know I wouldn't have missed your ball for the world, Eleanor."

"In that case, you should have confirmed your attendance." Despite the chastisement, the Duchess’ brown eyes sparkled with warmth.

"Have I ever?"

"Never," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "You, just like your rake of a father before you, have always eschewed society's conventions, so there's no good reason for me to hold out hope that you'll be changing anytime soon, is there?"

"And you have always been a stickler for the rules. You won't give up on your pestering of me because you like the challenge too much."

"What an odd match we two make, Jare," the Duchess remarked, her expression one of authentic fondness.

"Wouldn't change it for the world, Nora," Jared said, the smile on his face carefully schooled to reflect an affection he didn't truly hold.

She turned her attention to the man standing next to Jared, who wore a half mask as a concession to the ball's costumed theme much like the one Jared himself wore. "I don't recall receiving your reply to my invitation either, Lexington. But, then, that might have less to do with your blatant disregard of etiquette and more to do with me not issuing the invite in the first place."

"A minor oversight, I'm sure," Christian Kane, the Duke of Lexington, replied with graciousness.

"And I'm quite sure it wasn't."

Undaunted by the set down, Christian favored the Duchess with an amiable smile and a gallant bow. "Nevertheless, it is a pleasure to see you again, Nora."

"You may rest assured the pleasure is definitely all yours. And that's Duchess to you, or madam if you so please, but _never_ the familiarity of Nora." With a disdainful sniff, the formidable Duchess spun on her heels and marched off to greet her other guests, leaving the air surrounding Jared and Christian on the edge of the ballroom a marked thirty degrees cooler.

"The only resemblance that shrew shares with Cleopatra is her exceedingly proud carriage," Christian remarked, watching the Duchess make her rounds. "She's thrice Cleo's size."

Amused, Jared considered his friend's detached expression. "I daresay old Nora still hasn't forgiven you for breaking her heart, Christian."

"I'd daresay so, too, Jared. Only, she's not supposed to know I'm the responsible party. She's supposed to think it was my long deceased grandfather." Christian leveled an inquiring stare at Jared. "It's always been my plan to put her out of her misery myself, but am I in need of doing it sooner rather than later, _Jare_?"

Jared didn't take exception to the veiled accusation. It was ridiculous. His friend was simply on the receiving end of a sense of foreboding Jared himself had been feeling in spades since they’d made their unannounced entrance earlier in the evening. "I didn't tell her, if that's what you want to know. Despite my partiality for the shrewd biddy, uncommon though it may be, keeping your nature hidden is just as important to my survival as it is to yours. Once they discover one of us, that opens the gates to the discovery of all of us. If you feel the need to take care of her, it would be prudent to do so soon."

"Maybe I will. Tonight." Christian's attention returned to the Duchess of Dunbar. "Strange thing is, I've always felt like she's known. Even when I took my leave from society, returning many years later as my father."

"Who, mind you, in her eyes was the exact likeness of your grandfather. And you, in turn, are the exact likeness of them both."

"You, too, are the exact likeness of both your father and grandfather."

"Ahhh, and that, I believe, brings us to the root of the problem," Jared said, attention focused on the paired off couples decorating the ballroom floor.

"Which is?"

"Women are crafty creatures, Nora is the craftiest...and I never broke her heart." They shared a good laugh and when their mirth subsided, Jared figured it was as good a time as any to broach the subject which had plagued him for some while. Though they'd just returned from a two year trip to the Orient, he felt it was past time for them to take their leave of England on a more permanent basis. He was certain their amazing resemblance to their deceased predecessors would soon be noted by more than just the eyes of the scorned Duchess of Dunbar. "Our run here has been quite lucrative, Christian, but I think it may be time for us to move on."

Before his friend could respond, a tiny masked piece of rose covered fluff pushed past the two of them with a whispered, "Excuse me, my lordships," offered as apology. In unison, they turned to watch the girl, who had skirts hiked well above slim ankles to allow for speed, hurry into the garden.

Even with the mask covering his features, the narrowing of Christian's blue eyes and the flaring of his nostrils was plain to see. Added to those telling reactions was the swift compression of his lips into a thin, hard line.

"Want her?" Jared questioned.

"With a passion," Christian answered, eyes not wavering from the doorway opened up to the garden.

"A pint or two of blood? Or her life?"

"Her life."

"How very unfortunate for her. Come along. I'll act as lookout." Jared had already stepped outside when Christian's next words made him pause.

"I'm almost as old as you, Jared. You know I would never come to an event such as this without taking the proper precautions first."

"You mean to say, then, you've already fed?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Then why the reaction?"

"I don't know," Christian admitted. He raked a hand through his long brown hair. "But I'm demned sure about to go find out."

It didn't take them long to find the girl. Masked removed, she sat on a bench in the middle of the garden maze, still and pretty as the _Capitoline Venus_. Moonlight streamed down to highlight her delicate profile and to caress dark blond curls artfully arranged to spill over one shoulder. From her hasty exit, Jared had assumed she would be in tears over what was, no doubt, this trivial matter or that. But to his surprise, she wasn't.

She just appeared...destitute. And well she should considering her end was so near.

A glance at Christian revealed the man to be utterly incapable of speech at the moment, much less _dazing_ the girl into being amenable to his feasting on her neck. In truth, Christian seemed to be grappling with some deep inner issue...and it was clear he was on the losing end of the battle.

Stepping from his friend’s side, Jared approached in his stead. He placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and the prettiest, greenest eyes jerked up to meet his. A shock of momentary recognition stunned Jared before it dissipated with the realization the girl was a complete stranger. "Are you unwell, my dear?"

"Your grace." Her words were respectful, her eyes wary. "I probably shouldn't have come out here alone."

And it was on hearing her voice that Christian finally found his. "Jared," he growled, "I love you like a brother, but if you value your life, you are going to want to take your hand off of her. And then back away. Slowly."

The words were low, meant for Jared's ears alone.

"What?" Jared didn't move, shooting Christian an inquisitive glance instead.

" _Now_."

Dawning came to Jared and it arrived with a fair amount of hilarity attached to it. Hands in the air, he backed away one step at a time until he stood several paces away. Chuckling, he questioned, "Satisfactory?"

"No. But it'll have to do." Christian's gaze fastened onto the girl like a starved street urchin to a bowl of gruel. "Are you injured, sweet?"

"N-n-no," she stuttered, rising to her feet, frightened. She skirted to the far side of the bench, placing it in front of her as if to use it as an obstacle. "I mean, yes. Well, 'tis only my silly pride that's been bruised, in truth."

"All you have to do is name the responsible culprit and I _will_ avenge you," Christian swore.

"In that case you'll have to call out every lord who's expressed an interest in me, then asked for the hand of another." Her statement was given in a voice just as somber as Christian's, but the bloodthirsty effect was negated moments later by her nervous giggle.

"And I will. But not for asking for the hand of another, but for—well, never mind my reasons. Just give me the names. I can't make dawn appointments with the cads, but I shall see you avenged nevertheless."

"I...I thank you, Your Grace. But I only jest."

"I don't," Christian muttered under his breath, the words carrying easily to Jared. To the girl, he said, "Then I guess I have no choice but to honor your wish."

"I..." Still unsure about the two men she found herself in the company of, the girl’s words faded to silence as she divided her wide eyed attention between Jared and Christian.

"Sweet, although Padalecki is deserving of harsh punishment for his many past transgressions, right now he is innocent of any wrongdoing. So, unless you want me to back out on my word, starting with him, I suggest you don't look at him anymore," Christian ordered.

Her compliance was swift and immediate. She didn't even bother to steal one last glance, which suited Jared's purposes just fine. He had no desire to fight his oldest friend over this girl who was obviously his lifemate. A lifemate who, without a doubt, was beautiful and familiar to Jared, but commanded no interest or desire in him.

"That's right," Christian continued to cajole. "Look at me. Only me. I'm the only person that matters to you. And you're the only person that matters to me."

"That's the way of it," Jared commented, watching the _wooing_ with amused indifference. "Demands will win her over in no time."

"Jared, kindly keep your opinions to yourself." Using extreme caution, Christian neared the girl, as if concerned of what he would do if he closed off the distance separating them too quickly. A clever course of action, because if he did close off the distance separating them too quickly, and caught too strong a whiff of that scent he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from resisting, there _was_ no telling what he would do. "Now and forever, sweet. Me and you."

In his long and illustrious time on earth, Jared had already had the thrill of meeting that one person he couldn't _daze_ because her blood forbade it even as it sang to him in invitation to drain her almost to the point of death in a voice as sweet and pure as that of his former lover Francesca Caccini. Knowing it would be useless, Jared hadn't even tried to _daze_ the peasant, but rather drew the twit into a darkened, deserted alley by means of a suggestive wink and a sensuous smile. There, he'd surrendered to his nature without remorse, her life sustaining elixir piquant on his tongue, but nowhere near as delicious as he'd been led to believe it would be by those who had met their lifemates before him.

And Jared had felt nothing at all for his other half who he held cradled in his arms as he took that final draw from her neck. A final draw which had stilled her heartbeat, and pushed her beyond the point where Jared could change her, and shoved her into a death there would be no coming back from. Ever.

But unlike the very few others of his kind who had also made such horrendous, unforgivable mistakes because of their uncontrollable greediness for the irresistible tastes of their lifemates, Jared had done it on purpose.

Huh, it was his own long dead lifemate this slip of girl put him in the mind of, wasn’t it.

With keen interest, Jared wondered how Christian would react. He was almost as jaded as Jared, so there existed a certain possibility that he might deplete his lifemate of every last drop of her blood right here in this garden and be done with her. Or would he stop in time, then give her his blood in return, making her his for life? In truth, Jared knew it would more than likely be the latter as Jared was the only vampire in existence to have willingly chosen the gratification of a moment and walked away from the enjoyment of an eternity.

But even as the myriad of thoughts ran through his mind, Jared recognized there was something troubling him. Each step Christian took away from Jared, toward the girl, struck Jared with an overpowering wrongness. His gaze flicked from his friend to his friend's lifemate. But, still, Jared felt nothing for her, felt no urge to issue a challenge. And he wouldn't, as the husk of his own lifemate was buried deep in the ground two centuries past, the only surviving memento of her a silver necklace Jared had torn from her neck as she had breathed her last.

So why, then, did he want to rip his friend's head off?

"MacKenzie?" the voice of a man called out, still some considerable distance away.

In an effort to prevent an attack on Christian, Jared focused on the disembodied tenor as it shouted the name _MacKenzie_ several times more, each yell more desperate, and close, than the last. He could hear the pounding of the man's footsteps as he drew nearer. And with each one, it became harder for Jared to control himself.

Christian was too close to...her? No, it wasn't the girl. Christian was too close to—

"MacKenzie? Where in the devil have you gotten off to?" The owner of the voice rounded the hedgerow from the opposite side where Jared stood. " _MacKenzie_ , what—"

Jared was upon the man, forcing them both to the ground with his greater size and strength. His hands ripped off the masks they both wore, as well as the man's cravat, and his elongated canines found purchase in the man's throat.

"Mine," he lifted his head long enough to snarl in warning in Christian's general direction.

"Yours," Christian agreed before he pounced on his lifemate. His hand slapped across the girl's mouth, preventing her vocalization of the horror clear on her face. The furious sounds of feeding were the only sounds to disturb the otherwise quiet night.

_Mine_ , reverberated through every corner of Jared’s mind as his mouth filled to the brim with blood so pure and sweet and delicious it made his head spin.

This man belonged to him. And his taste was truly beautiful singing. It was _bel canto_.


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness returned to Jensen all at once, but he awoke only to discover that his head ached and that the intense pounding inside of it made him yearn for the comfort of sleep once more. Maybe he would lie abed for a little while longer...

 _MacKenzie_! Jensen struggled into an upright position, a pained groan issuing from a source deep within him. He rubbed his temples, hoping to rub the ache there into a distant memory. After several moments of his futile ministrations, he gave up, his concern again turning to his sister.

Removing the coverlets from atop him, Jensen swung his legs over the side of the bed, noting with disgusted chagrin he'd apparently drunken himself into such obliviousness he hadn't bothered to undress and to don his nightshirt. Though his waistcoat, cravat and footwear, and even his mask, were all missing, he still wore his wrinkled shirtsleeves and trousers.

Such a sorry state he was in, yet hard as Jensen tried, he couldn't recall taking one sip of the spirits which had landed him there. He could only hope he hadn't made too much of an arse of himself while in mixed company before he'd returned home and retired for the evening.

Jensen lurched to his stockinged feet and headed to the door, planning to seek out MacKenzie. The last thing he remembered was his frantic search through the throng of costumed guests looking for her after he’d overheard the circulating whispers of the two well known rakes who’d slipped out the door leading to the garden trailing behind an unescorted female.

All of his nightmares of MacKenzie's downfall had reared their ugly heads when Lady Sandy and Lady Lauren had sought Jensen out to confirm with merriment that the girl was, indeed, his sister. MacKenzie had apparently gone to get a breath of fresh air after having learned that the first of the three consecutive Banns of Marriage would be read during the next church service for yet another one of her so called friends. And the two dukes who had followed her out were libertines of the worst sort, they'd advised, and if MacKenzie was discovered with them, then Jensen and MacKenzie may as well make arrangements to return posthaste to their rundown home in the country. Because MacKenzie would be ruined. Enjoying Jensen's obvious stress, Lady Sandy had even gone so far as to promise to keep the busybodies out of the garden for a full ten minutes, at which point she would then lead the crowd there herself for all to discover what mischief there was to be found.

Flummoxed, Jensen stared at the door in front of him. It was on the long wall of the room.

It was on the _wrong_ wall of the room.

Headache gone, Jensen whirled in a circle to take in the candlelit bedchamber he stood in, just to find it unfamiliar. The bed was twice the size of his own in the rented townhouse. And it had a canopy— _a canopy_! Why wasn’t the presence of the blasted canopy the first thing he noticed? Because his bed didn't have a canopy, it only had four posts. Even the walls were different. They contained no windows and were covered in an expensive, raised fabric with an intricate design that looked like it would be soft to the touch. Almost as soft as the flooring beneath his feet which wasn't rug covered hardwood, but carpet.

The whole room was done up in varying shades of crimson and obsidian. It stimulated the senses and left little to the imagination as to what purpose the room had been designed to be used for. And that purpose had little to do with sleeping.

 _Where in the devil was he_? _And where was his sister_?

Without another thought, Jensen burst through the door and out into the corridor beyond. He rushed down the hall, opening door after door, searching for MacKenzie. When he reached the end of the hall, he was forced to acknowledge that wherever his sister was, it wasn't here, in this overly huge mansion with its subterranean bedchambers devoid of all natural light. Jensen hurried to the grand staircase located right across from the entrance to the last bedchamber he'd just exited. Halfway up, he came to a halt. 

A man had appeared at the top. A mammoth of a man who had several inches on Jensen in height as well as through his shoulders. The unknown man was possessed of a wide brow, hazel eyes and brunette hair tied back off a pale face of aristocratic features which contained more than just a touch of cruelty and hardness. A man whose face Jensen had seen before. But not in person.

But Jensen _had_ seen it.

Next to his own, just hours earlier, in the hand mirror which still lay on the floor of his room. As he'd never before made the man's acquaintance, Jensen had assumed the man was a figment of his imagination. He'd even gone so far as to jest with MacKenzie, while on the way to the ball inside of their rented hackney, that her magic hand mirror had shown her husband to him, rather than her, because it knew a male relative's approval was required first.

What Jensen hadn't mentioned to MacKenzie was that _her husband's lips_ had been pressed tight to _Jensen's throat_.

The man didn't speak, just stared at Jensen. Unable to hold the piercing, cold gaze, Jensen's eyes dropped to the man's hands. One rested on the stairway’s railing while the other held a glass containing a sanguine fluid. Jensen had the most irrational desire to taste the liquid. Just to see if it tasted like it looked...to see if it tasted like...

...blood...

Disturbed by the turn of his thoughts, Jensen drug his eyes back upwards. And was hit with the immediate impression that the man wasn't just seeing him, but that he was peering into Jensen's very soul, observing, understanding, dismantling all of Jensen.

Jensen took a step down and backwards, in the direction of the way he'd just come. "Where am I? And where is my sister?"

"Safe," the man answered in a pleasing, rumbling tone. A vague smile twisted the corners of his lips. "But you're asking the wrong questions, Jensen."

Jensen started, surprised the man knew his name. "I apologize, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage."

"I am Jared Padalecki."

 _The Duke of Williamton_. Jensen may not have known the man by sight, but he certainly knew him by name. For his own knowledge, Jensen had sat in on those lessons focused on familiarizing MacKenzie with the names and titles of the more prestigious lords and ladies of the peerage. The Duke of Williamton was legendary for his genius in financial undertakings.

He was also known for being thoroughly dissolute in all ways.

"Y-Y-Your Grace," Jensen stammered, dismayed not by the title, but by the Duke's menacing stance. Just standing there as he was, he cut an intimidating figure. "I'm sure you'll understand that I'd like to verify with my own eyes as to the safety of my sibling. If you would kindly tell me where she is."

The Duke lifted his glass to his lips and took a long draw of the contents before answering, "Safe."

Jensen's mouth watered. He'd never cared much for wine, preferring instead warmed brandy, but right now he was eager to taste the blood red liquid for himself. It looked delicious. And warm. And thick. And he fancied that he could almost smell its strong, coppery aroma.

So involved in lusting after the wine, Jensen almost missed the Duke's next statement, "She's with my friend. They're at his residence. Not too far from here."

Just like that, Jensen's mouth dried. His sister was in some man's house, a man who was probably an immoral profligate given that the Duke counted him as a friend, and there _without_ Jensen to act as her chaperone? Jensen mounted two steps, but halted when it became obvious the Duke wasn't going to move out of his way. "Remove yourself."

"I will not."

"But I must go to her at once, sir."

"You won't disturb them."

"And you presume a lot to tell me what I cannot do," Jensen replied.

"I'm not telling you, lad...I'm forbidding you. As is my right."

 _His right_?

And it was. Deep inside, Jensen felt the man's control snap into place as it asserted itself. If Jensen thought of returning to the chamber he'd just left, he could go. If he thought of fleeing up the stairs and out the door, he could go.

But if he thought of seeking out his sister...he knew he couldn't follow through on the action. It was as if literal shackles stopped him from doing so.

"What have you done to me?" Jensen gasped.

"Now we're on the right course. But that's still the wrong question, Jensen." Cool amusement lit the depths of the Duke’s amber orbs.

"What question would you have me ask?"

"How long you have to live."

"Are you threatening to kill me?"

The silence which preceded the answer stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. "I already have."

Jensen glanced down the front of himself, taking in his body—his fully functioning, walking, talking, very much still alive— _thank you very much_ —body. "The hell, you say."

*

Jensen Ross Ackles was lively.

And Jared liked that about him. Liked _him_. Way more than he ought considering Jensen represented two impossibilities: First, Jensen was Jared’s lifemate, a fact so shocking in its own right it almost overshadowed the second issue which was more of an improbability than an impossibility, Jensen's gender.

Jared had found out all about Jensen from the man’s twin sister. Following an age old and inherent instinct, Christian had depleted her blood supply down to the bare minimum needed for the transition much quicker than Jared had with Jensen in his reserved caution not to repeat history, meaning Christian was also able to replenish her lost blood with his own quicker and that she came to quicker...hours before Jensen.

Jared had just returned home not too long ago from delivering a marital gift to the couple. He'd found it amusing, and symbolic, to present them with a _dazed_ Duchess of Dunbar. At Christian's insistence, given only because he could stand for another vampire to be in the presence of his lifemate as they’d already consummated their union and completed their bond prior to Jared's arrival, Jared had shared in their snack, which was immediately followed by an informative tête-à-tête with MacKenzie.

To Christian's delight, MacKenzie had readily accepted her future as a creature of the dark who would live by his side for eternity. Though Jared hadn't mentioned it to his friend, he thought MacKenzie was excited more than anything else about the fact that it was, as she put it, "My turn to wed."

To say she relished the thought of shocking the _ton_ by making a quick trip to Gretna Green only to return a wedded, pre-bedded wife was an understatement. Though their relationship, unlike Jared's with Jensen, would be recognized afterwards in the eyes of the church, and the _ton_ if the two decided to stay in England, Jared didn't envy his friend his new bride. From his quick meeting with her, Jared had deduced the girl was stubborn, headstrong and would be a handful.

Not a good combination to work against while trying to teach a newling the discipline required to curb a raging bloodlust. Before MacKenzie was in full control of herself, there would be several, unforeseen, public slaughters that Christian would be unable to stop and would have to clean up (which possibly meant more deaths if there were witnesses) to prevent discovery.

But Jensen...Jensen represented a completely different story. From MacKenzie's description of her beloved brother, the male was, for lack of a better word, a prude. He spent the majority of his time concerned with the _ton_ 's opinion, an opinion Jared himself flouted in his present life as well as had flouted in his past two incarnations as his father and his grandfather. He made it a point to always live his life without the hindrance of regrets or morals to hamper him and to live it while never giving a demn what the _ton_ , or anyone else for that matter, thought of him.

Which, at present, put Jared at a distinct disadvantage. He could only speculate how Jensen would react to the fact that he belonged to Jared, another man, now and forever. Revulsion, shock and disgust topped the list of possible responses. Left with no other choice, Jared knew Jensen would grow to accept the two of them together, but Jared would rather have it happen sooner than later.

And there was only one way he could see that happening...through the corruption of the pious male. 

Starting with an explicit introduction to those delights which were carnal in nature.

Though Jared had always preferred the company of women, he had been around too long to have escaped extensive, personal knowledge of the bliss that could be found with men. As lifemates, he and Jensen would be participating often in those pleasurable activities together. Activities which, if discovered, carried a sentence of death by hanging, a sentence that would cause about as much harm to a vampire as dousing him or her with holy water—or, in other words, it would cause no harm at all.

"You're a lunatic, _a raving lunatic_ ," Jensen spat.

Inclining his head, Jared replied, "Lunatic or not, you know I speak the truth, Jensen. You are now as dead as I am."

"Lunatic," Jensen repeated, spinning around.

Draining the contents of his cup, Jared watched his reluctant lifemate flee. He wondered if Jensen even noticed his increased speed before deciding he hadn't, or if Jensen had, he'd probably attributed it to the distress of his situation lending him increased energy. Several seconds passed before Jared set his emptied glass on the top step and gave chase. He caught up to Jensen, then overtook him, just as Jensen reached the door to the bedchamber he'd awoken in. Jared's bedchamber.

Jensen hurtled into the interior and slammed the door shut, locking it. He stared at it, backed away, moved towards it again, one hand rising, only to back away once more.

Entertained, Jared watched as Jensen struggled against the pull of their union, watched him wrestle with something that was bigger than either of them on the individual level because it was representative of the two of them as a whole. "Your fight is in vain."

"Jesus," Jensen shouted. He whirled towards the rumpled bed on which Jared reclined. "What _are_ you?"

"Your sire." Holding Jensen's wary gaze, Jared rose and approached. "Your master. Your maker. Your creator.” Voice low, fierce, “ _Your God_." Pace equal and measured to Jared’s, Jensen backed away. But Jared didn't let up on his advance until there were only a few mere steps separating them and Jensen's backside was flush with the door, leaving him with no way to escape. "But above all, I will be your lover."

"You're the devil, aren't you?" Jensen whispered with more awe than fear.

"No, but I do so love how you compliment me." Jared cut off the remaining distance, splaying his hands flat on the door above Jensen's head as he leaned in to catch Jensen’s lips in a quick, brutal kiss of possession. He pulled back to mutter, "You belong to me, Jensen Ross Ackles."

In a stupor, Jensen regarded him. Then bellowed, "Yours? Are you mad? You're a man!" And, almost as an afterthought given habitually, added, "And don't call me Ross."

"I thought we already settled that I am quite mad. For you. And I'd much rather call you by another name— _mine_." Jared invaded his soon-to-be lover's space again and wrapped one hand in locks that were silky and blond, using his grip to pull Jensen’s head back with a jerk. He forced a second kiss on the captivating, upturned lips that was deeper than, more all consuming than, more possessive than the first.

Jensen stiffened as Jared thrust his tongue over and over into his mouth seeking, tasting, ravishing, marking. He raised his hands to Jared's chest to push him away. But the resistance faded as Jensen succumbed to Jared's invincible will. And those hands that had tried to win a bid for freedom ended up clutching at Jared's shirt and pulling Jared closer.

With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jared drew back, taking in Jensen’s bruised and swollen lips. His gaze drifted higher and he saw the beginning of understanding spark in Jensen's bright green eyes. "That's right, Jensen. All you have to do is look within yourself to know I speak the truth."

"But it is unnatural for one man to be with another. It's not—" Jensen's protestation broke off as Jared's free hand found the crotch of his trousers.

"The hell with polite society and the whole bloody _ton_ ," Jared snarled. "I don't live by rules made by men because I am not a man. I don't live by anybody’s rules but my own." With each statement, Jared gave Jensen's growing length a firm stroke. "And, make no mistake, there is nothing— _nothing_ —that will keep me from you."

"If you're not a man," Jensen panted, twisting in an effort to free himself, "what are you?"

" _We_ , dear Jensen, _we_ are vampires," Jared answered, overcoming with ease every one of Jensen's efforts to evade his relentless touch.

"There's no...there's no such thing...as vampires."

"I assure you, there is such a thing." Jared tightened his grasp in the golden tresses and curled the fingers of his other hand around the outline of Jensen’s staff revealed by the snug fit of the breeches he wore. "I am one. You are one. And you belong to me."

Fingers moving quick and sure, Jared sprung Jensen's phallus free of its constriction, then dropped to his knees. He was pleased to see the alluring prize he'd uncovered. Jensen wasn't too long, nor too thick, but of the perfect size and with a slight curve. Jared played with the silken flesh, stroking it up and down, occasionally dropping his grip to caress the sack beneath.

Confident Jensen was ready for the next level, Jared brought his mouth to the head of Jensen's manhood. Then engulfed it. He licked and nipped until he reached the root, then pulled back and repeated his actions, again and again. Each time Jensen released a little of that sweet liquid which was the precursor to the higher pleasure he hurtled headlong towards, Jared growled low in his throat and his fangs grew a little longer.

In the most basic of manners, Jared worshiped his lifemate. He savored Jensen's clean taste, swiping his tongue in broad strokes along the bottom of Jensen’s prick as he alternated between gentle and hard sucks. He cupped Jensen's heavy balls and from their tightness, and from Jensen's guttural, fevered moans, Jared knew Jensen was close.

Releasing Jensen from his mouth, Jared sat back on his haunches and stared up into his newling's half closed eyes. "How many do I have to wipe clean from your memory, Jensen?"

"None," Jensen muttered as he gulped air in an attempt to recover his stolen breath.

The answer shocked Jared. In his own human life, he'd been inducted into manhood at the age of thirteen and had enjoyed being a man for the next seventeen years until he'd been turned on the whim of a female vampire who'd wanted to forever preserve his potent vitality. Not taking kindly to the absolute control of another over him, a control granted to the siring vampire on their creation of a newling, Jared had fucked the bitch then decapitated her soon as she'd fallen asleep. Ever since, he'd enjoyed the varying joys that came along with his altered nature...which included a dangerous, intoxicating combination of sex mingled with blood and death.

As Jared's experiences ranged from the loving of men, to the loving of women, to men who wanted to be women, to women who wanted to be men, to one lonely, confused soul who had been equipped with a dual set of sexual organs, Jensen's unspoiled innocence pleased him to no end.

"None? You've never been with another before? I know not a man, but not even a woman?"

"Never."

"And we're going to keep it that way," Jared demanded, triumph soaring through his veins that none had ever known what was his. "You will never be with another, Jensen. You belong to me. Mind, body and soul. You hear me? Even your soul belongs to me. Forever." Jared sucked the staff clear into the back of his throat, then released it again. "Say it, Jensen. I want to hear you _say it_."

"Yours," Jensen agreed with a tortured moan.

"What's mine?" Jared swirled his tongue around the swollen tip, tasting another sweet dollop of the liquid innocence which welled there.

"My soul," Jensen groaned. "My soul is yours, Your Grace."

"For how long?"

"For forever."

"That's right, Jensen. For forever." With that, Jared resumed his ministrations on the stiff rod.

Very soon, Jensen bucked against Jared’s mouth, his head thrown back and the cords in his neck bulged out. His entire body stretched taut, reaching for that final end. Jared continued to suck, relishing the ever so slight swelling of Jensen's member and the ecstasy visible on Jensen's face. When Jensen's legs began to quiver, Jared shifted so that he supported most of Jensen's weight as he continued to goad Jensen towards orgasm.

When Jensen's fingers clutched at the side of Jared's head, Jared sucked harder still. Then bit down at the base of Jensen’s staff.

And was rewarded with the first pulse of Jensen's seed mingled with the tangy taste of his blood.

For each of Jared's greedy swallows, Jensen graced him with another mouthful. One, two, three, four more volleys erupted before Jensen had delivered the whole of his load. Afterwards he sagged against the door, in danger of collapsing.

"The most intoxicating of sweetness," Jared said, licking his lips. He removed both of their clothes, then swept Jensen off his feet and carried him to the bed where he laid him out flat on his stomach. He stretched himself alongside Jensen as he asked, "Are you ready for more, dear Jensen?"

The response was muffled by the pillows Jensen's face was buried in, but considering he wasn't making a fruitless dash for the door, Jared took it as consent. He buried his nose in Jensen's neck and inhaled. Jensen smelled earthy and male, like sandalwood...and purity. "So innocent, so untried, so pure. I confess I don't know whether it is God's hand that has brought us together or the Devil's."

Jensen turned his head to one side, golden curls shielding his profile. "Why do you make such a statement, Your Grace?"

"My name is Jared." Jared caressed the wayward locks of hair off Jensen's brow, tucking them behind his ear. _Beautiful_ , he thought as the handsome face was revealed to his hungry eyes again, _absolutely beautiful_. "Use it, because I refuse to spend an eternity listening to you call me Your Grace."

"Why do you make such a statement...Jared?"

"Because God," Jared answered, pressing a kiss to Jensen's neck, "washed his hands of me a long time ago. And I have no doubt you are a precious creation he personally had a hand in molding and, thus, would have never willingly given to me. So that leads me to think..."

"That the devil is responsible?"

"It would be just like old Beelzebub to mark you as mine. But only as a cruel trick. Only if he meant to take you from me. But I won't let him. I meant it when I said there is nothing—not one person or thing—on this earth that can keep you from me. And even when we experience the true death, I'll still find you." Jared licked a line across Jensen's broad shoulders, down the graceful curve of his back, then flipped him over. "This next part I had thought to do from behind, but now I find that I want to watch your expressive eyes as we embark on the experience together."

Jensen's swallow was an audible click. "Experience?"

"You've given me your blood and seed. You've made me yours. Now it's time for me to make you mine."

"Don't I get a choice in the matter?"

Jared gave a closed mouth smile. "No, Jensen, you do not."


	3. Chapter 3

Jared alighted from the bed and walked across the room, towards a chest situated in a far corner. His proud staff jutted out in front of him, leading the way. Rolling onto his side, Jensen watched as Jared lifted the chest’s lid and bent to rummage through the contents. After having apparently located the object of his desire, Jared made his way back to Jensen, stopping mere steps away, the item hidden within the confines of his fist.

Absorbed, Jensen drank in Jared's magnificence. His sturdy shoulders. His brawny chest. His muscular legs.

He told himself the power Jared held over him was just of a carnal nature, rather than the unnatural control he'd first thought it was. He convinced himself that it was his curiosity to _know_ Jared in this manner which had prevented him from taking his leave earlier to go in search of MacKenzie. Jensen was enthralled by this man who claimed to be a vampire and he knew what he felt to be wrong. Knew it made them both little more than abominations in the eyes of the Lord. Pariahs to be scorned by society.

But how could something so wrong be so pleasurable? Jensen shuddered as he recalled the intenseness of the fulfillment he had found in the hot, wet cavity of Jared's mouth.

Jared may not have been sure of who, or what, had brought them together, but Jensen sure the hell was. And it wasn't God or Satan.

It was that demned hand mirror.

With trepidation, Jensen steeled himself. The hand mirror had ordained he was to be here, so he would make the best of this immoral situation. And once Jared fell asleep, Jensen would slip away, never to think back again on this night or the things he’d allowed himself to do with another man.

"Look at me, Jensen." It wasn't until Jared spoke that Jensen realized he'd squeezed his eyes shut. Jared waited until Jensen did as bid to give his next order. "Taste."

Quarrelling feelings equal parts disgust to fascination, Jensen leaned forward. He brought his lips to the tip of Jared's manhood. Gaze imperious, Jared stared down at him, silent, waiting for Jensen to carry out the task he'd been given.

_Taste_. The order in the glittering hazels was as clear as if it had been spoken aloud a second time.

Needing no further encouragement, Jensen tasted. Hesitant, uncertain, he swirled his tongue around the head, getting a feel for the ridges, the silky texture and the smooth flavor. It felt strange having any part of the huge rod in his mouth, but it also felt...right.

The rumbling moan Jared emitted emboldened Jensen like no words of praise ever could. Mimicking the actions that had recently brought him such gratification, Jensen inched his way down towards the root. Halfway to his goal, he stopped, or else he risked the very real, and very disagreeable, possibility of choking himself on the immense girth. Gracing Jared with a look of apology, Jensen retreated the tiniest bit.

"Enough," Jared groaned. "Your inexperience is going to unman me. On your back. Now."

Jensen laid down flat on his back, his eyes fastened to Jared's hand and the tiny black vial revealed when his fist relaxed open. The sweet scent of rose attar teased Jensen’s nostrils when the cork was removed, the flowery aroma clogging up the air as Jared poured the entire contents of the bottle onto one palm. With a few swipes, Jared coated his massive erection with the oil, his staff shining bright in the flickering glow of the candlelight.

"You should know beforehand that there will be pain involved in our joining," Jared said, dropping the bottle on the floor as he rejoined Jensen on the bed. He dipped his head to catch Jensen's bottom lip between his teeth, sucked it into his mouth for a brief moment before letting it go. "It is unavoidable."

"The joining or the pain?" Jensen groused.

"The pain on joining is unavoidable, though your body will quickly repair itself which will lead to our mutual enjoyment." Jared smiled, deep dimples acting as a frame to his wide mouth. "But the joining itself is inevitable."

That was when Jensen knew there would be no running from Jared and there would never be an escape from him. They were both just as Jared said they were. Vampires. Blood sucking fiends. And it wasn't Jared's outrageous statement that Jensen’s body would instantly heal which led Jensen to his conclusion.

Jensen believed because of what he saw. Earlier, he had felt Jared's too sharp bite which triggered his dizzying release, but Jensen hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Now Jensen did.

Fangs. Jared was possessed of a set of fangs. And it was on seeing them that Jensen’s limp staff hardened again. Even more shocking was the dropping of his own fangs in response.

All previous inhibitions just about dissipated, Jensen raised a hand to Jared's face. He stroked a finger down first one, then the other, long, pointy incisor. It was only on noticing that Jared's lids were screwed shut, his face contorted into an expression of abject discomfort, that Jensen jerked away. "My apologies. I didn't mean to cause you any harm."

"You didn't," Jared murmured, opening his eyes. The desire burning in their depths branded Jensen with its intensity. "On the contrary, you bring me great joy."

Jared settled himself on top of Jensen, between his thighs. His oil slicked hand moved to Jensen's backside. Resting the tip of one finger at Jensen’s entrance, Jared asked for permission to proceed without uttering a single word.

Comical that the man who had remarked upon Jensen’s expressive eyes did so much talking with his own set.

Ironic that the man who had taken everything else that he wanted now sought consent.

"Jensen?" Jared questioned.

It was on the tip of Jensen’s tongue to say no, to deny Jared access, to shield some part of himself from Jared—Jared, who Jensen knew beyond a shadow of any doubt, wanted to claim and own all of Jensen, right down to Jensen’s very soul just as Jared had stated earlier. Jensen opened his mouth, ran his tongue over his lips, stopped when he reached one of the deadly sharp tips new to him.

If he said no, there still existed a possibility for self-preservation.

"Jensen...?"

There still existed a possibility for...nothing. Without Jared, there was nothing.

"Do it."

The finger eased into Jensen’s passage. It was joined by a second, then a third, and the fullness and pressure Jensen experienced as the fingers twisted and turned was a discomfort replaced by a wave of forceful pleasure when a certain spot was skimmed.

Jared pulled his fingers almost all the way out and the wave had just begun to recede into a poignant memory when he eased them back in again. He quickly found that same spot, this time massaging it.

"Jared," Jensen gasped, back arched off the bed, bottom bearing down on the hand home to the invading fingers.

"Feels good?" Jared gathered some of the liquid leaking from Jensen's rod onto the fingers of his free hand and brought them to his lips. He plunged the digits into his mouth. Sucked them clean.

Jensen didn't have a chance to think about the resulting emptiness when Jared pulled his fingers completely free of his body as the tip of Jared's staff now rested at his entrance. Pressing forward, Jared plowed through all resistance until he filled Jensen to the brim.

The pain Jared had spoken off was a passing hurt Jensen didn’t dwell on. Because there was a staggering reality of much greater importance he now found himself faced with. This coupling wasn't just about Jared filling the void left by the exit of his fingers. This coupling was about Jared filling a void, a deep chasm, inside of Jensen's soul that Jensen hadn't even been aware existed.

For the first time in his life, Jensen was whole. And he was thoroughly baffled as to how he'd gone eighteen years without ever knowing such a big part of himself was gone, missing.

"We're lifemates," Jared said, his face intent as he stared down at Jensen. He was buried to the hilt, but held himself still but for the occasional twitch of his shaft. "Listen closely, Jensen, I have to tell you this. This is completely out of character for me, but I feel compelled to offer you the chance for you to make this choice your own, which is something I had not planned to do."

"I—"

"Listen," Jared admonished, placing a silencing finger to Jensen's lips. "I need to explain this to you, but my willpower is only so strong and we're running out of time before the choice is made for you. You'll always be a vampire as I stole your life from you. I would apologize for my thievery, but I won’t bother because I’d be lying if I were to say that I was sorry."

"Just—"

"You should know the bond which actually ties us together as lifemates has only been initiated, not completed. If you don't want this, I can withdraw now and the bond will be severed. If you don't want this, _if you don't want me_ , I'll make a gallant effort to let you proceed with your life as you see fit, with no interference from me, but I make no promises."

" _Jared_ —"

"Listen, you little idiot," Jared hissed, hand falling away from Jensen’s face down to the bed. "If you don't want this, you have to tell me now. Right this very instant. Because once I start, I'm not going to be able to stop until I have spent myself inside of you and the bond has been completed. And once it's completed, it's permanent. You will truly be mine—"

"Which is what I want," Jensen interrupted with a heated buck of his hips which caused Jared's staff to withdraw and rebury itself. "Now it’s time for you to listen to me. You will demned well finish what you started or I'm going to make it a personal quest of mine to destroy each and every thing you hold in any kind of regard. So, Jared, I think the choice is actually yours. And I suggest you choose wisely. And I also suggest you never, _ever_ , call me an idiot again."

"Never," Jared agreed with a groan. “I can’t go slow," he said, pulling his hips back. "The need to consummate our union is too great."

Action brutal, Jared slammed forward. Their copulation was rough, violent. And each time Jared thrust, bolts of ecstasy raced through all parts of Jensen. He could feel the passion unite them as one.

For an eternity, Jensen teetered on the brink of a great precipice, riding the waves of their ardor ever higher, until he finally fell over the edge from the rightness that was them. His shaft exploded strings of liquid desire across both of their stomachs.

Jared collapsed on top of Jensen, hips grinding furiously, the pale skin of his neck near Jensen's mouth. Giving in to an instinctive need, Jensen sank his teeth deep into the soft flesh. As Jensen's mouth filled with pulse after pulse of Jared's blood, Jared pushed as deep as he could go and filled Jensen with pulse after pulse of his seed.

Their bond had been forged.

*

Jared stared at the handsome face of his lifemate.

He still couldn't believe it. In all honesty, he thought he'd murdered his lifemate all those long years ago. And maybe he had, except for the fact that in all the years he'd been walking the earth, Jared had only known vampires to each have one lifemate only...that not all were even fortunate enough to find. Humans were frail creatures. And sometimes their lives were stolen before they could be turned and the bond created. Craving an attachment of some sort, there were some vampires who chose to settle with another who wasn't their lifemate for any variety of reasons, but they lived with that other without the bond linking them together. Meaning they could walk away from each other at any time, for any reason, with no reservations to hold them back. And then there were those who chose to live their lives in solitary.

Having now experienced the the bond to his lifemate himself, Jared knew he could never accept either paltry fate.

If Jensen was destroyed before him, Jared would destroy himself...but only after first disposing of those responsible for Jensen's death.

Then Jared would reunite with Jensen in the afterlife, considering there _was_ an afterlife for the damned. Even if there wasn't, that still wouldn't be enough to keep Jared from Jensen.

Truth be told, Jared had thought of destroying himself that very night. For a few, brief, horrible and agonizing moments, while in the garden with Christian and MacKenzie, when he'd realized Christian would turn her, Jared had thought it was his absolute corruption, his abject degradation, that made him want to destroy his friend. Jared had thought that he'd sunk to such a new low that he could only be happy by seeing his closest friend miserable and that's when it occurred to him that it might be better for him to just end it all right then and there.

Now Jared didn't have to. He had Jensen to sustain him.

Jared stroked a finger down Jensen's cheek. Green eyes opened and the sheer magnitude of adoration which shone from them staggered Jared.

"I have something for you," Jared said, words quiet. He was ready to face the consequences of his past actions. He got up and retrieved the necklace from the chest. He returned to stand by the side of the bed and laid the piece of jewelry across Jensen's torso. At Jensen's lifted eyebrows, Jared explained, "It belonged to a woman who I now suspect was an ancestor of yours. A great grandmother many times removed, maybe."

"What was her name?" Jensen asked, lifting the tarnished silver chain so he could study it in the light cast by the candles.

"I do not know."

"If you did not know her, then how did you end up with something that belonged to her?"

For the first time ever, Jared regretted something. He regretted killing the peasant girl. But before he could think of an answer that would pass as a suitable expression of his repentance, a knock sounded at the door. Latching onto the reprieve, Jared called, "Enter."

The door swung wide and his trusted butler entered, pulling behind him an elegantly dressed woman who had clearly been _dazed_. Jensen scrambled to cover himself with a sheet, but Morgan didn't bat an eyelash over Jared's state of undress or Jensen’s either for that matter.

Or the fact that he had just delivered a woman to certain death.

"Lady Sandy," Morgan announced, demeanor stoic. "A gift from the Duke and soon-to-be Duchess of Lexington for you and the young master."

"My sister?” Jensen questioned.

"Yes," Jared replied.

"Is she..."

"Same as you."

“Huh."

Morgan retreated to the door where he stopped to add, "And Lady Cleo sends her many thanks for the return of her property and for the presentation of the party responsible for its disappearance. She said the mirror has been gone from her garden for many years, but she cherishes it now just as much as the first time you gifted it to her.” More wry, “And she’s very grateful that this second time differed from the first in that it did not include you killing the holy man who was foolish enough to make the mirror and infuse it with heku at your behest.” Stony expression fading into one of amusement, Morgan said, “She said she also thanks you for the advice to forget that she ever met Captain Kidd and let him regale her with his ludicrous notions of keeping a treasure safe by burying it and will lock the mirror up someplace safe instead."

After the door closed behind Morgan, Jared glanced at Jensen. Who was staring not at him, but at the woman.

Although he'd begun their night with every intention of corrupting Jensen's innocence, and had succeeded beyond all of his greatest beliefs in one regard, there were certain other innocences Jensen would soon have to shed. There were inescapable aspects of this new life over which Jared suspected Jensen would voice fierce objections.

Like how they fed.

The more he thought about it, the more bothered Jared became. He truly did not want Jensen to lose all of his purity. To become hard and without compunction...to become like him.

"Lady Cleo?" Jensen asked. "As in Cleopatra? You mean she didn't die from the bite of—"

"Only bite she felt that day was mine," Jared interrupted. "Only death she experienced was that of her mortality."

He heard Jensen slip from the bed behind him. Was aware of Jensen’s every movement as he returned the necklace to the chest, as he moved to stand in front of Jared.

A long silence stretched before Jensen stated, "You killed her."

They were no longer speaking of Cleopatra. "Yes."

"You regret what you did."

"I do now," Jared answered, staring at a spot on the wall high above Jensen's head. "But not for what I did to her."

"Look at me."

Jared refused, keeping his eyes fastened on that same spot. He couldn't bear to look in Jensen's eyes, to risk seeing the vacancy of the adoration for it to have only been replaced by a deep regret fed by Jared’s malicious actions of a time long ago. "Until tonight, I never had cause to regret anything I've ever done. Until tonight, I never had cause to regret what I am. To regret what I so unapologetically made you."

"You knew she was special, else you wouldn't have taken something of hers."

The words sounded like an accusation. "Yes, Jensen, I knew she was special. There was something about her which beckoned to me. I didn't like her having that power, so I stole her life, then her property because I saw no reason not to."

"Look at me," Jensen demanded. " _Please_."

Jared's will crumbled in the face of that single word. His gaze lowered to Jensen's. Where the same adoration still shone bright. " _Jensen_..."

"I didn't know my ancestor, so I couldn’t possibly care for her. And the bond I have with you far outweighs any indignation I could possibly muster over the death of a woman I've never met. And right now I'm more interested in discovering what is wrong with Lady Sandy and why she is here with us than in speaking of the past."

One difficulty down, with another to immediately take its place. "She's been _dazed_. And she's here to feed us."

"Feed us?"

"The only sustenance you will require from now on is blood. I know this will be hard for you, Jensen," Jared said. He placed his hand on the nape of Jensen’s neck, stroked the skin there with the pads of his fingers. "It is always a tribulation when first faced with overcoming your disgust, but after a few times, it will become natural. The intense need to slake your hunger will ease the way."

"The thought of taking blood does not dismay me.” Exasperation was evident in the cadence of Jensen’s tone. "I've already done it once tonight when I took yours just now. And it felt like the most natural of things for me to do."

"You've taken my blood _twice_ tonight," Jared reminded, wanting Jensen to know how much they were truly a part of one another.

"Twice...?"

"The first time you wouldn't remember. It was after I attacked you in the Dunbar's garden."

"Huh. Well okay, then. Two times I’ve already done it. Now, tell me, when I feed do I have to take undue care not to kill?"

"The bloodlust will eventually lessen and will become easier for you to control."

"But what if I don't want to control it?"

"You don’t have to. Not always." Jared sighed, thinking of the innocences already lost.

"I only mean to not control it with her," Jensen clarified, leaning into Jared and laying his mused golden curls against Jared’s chest. "This gift is from my sister. You see, I have a rather unpleasant history with Lady Sandy. At one point, I even fancied myself in love with her."

"In that case,” Jared said, jealousy raging, “feel free to take her life."

Delight transformed Jensen's face like he was a child with a new toy. And Jared realized even with the permanent destruction of several innocences, Jensen had, and always would, retain many others.

Jensen would never be like him. Jensen would always be pure, innocent, untried Jensen.

And it seemed Jared had killed one of ancient Egypt’s many High Priests in error. The High Priest had been the one to carve out the intimate portrayal of Jared embracing another man on the handle of the Mirror of Destinies Revealed that Jared had retrieved from Jensen's townhouse that very night after MacKenzie had revealed its location. Still a young vampire back then, uneducated about lifemates and in complete ignorance of their existence, Jared had called the High Priest an incompetent imbecile and had laughed in his face. Had drained him dry within the hallowed walls of the temple dedicated to the patron god of craftsmen, Ptah.

The High Priest was now dust and ash, his life a forgotten moment in time. But Jared would always remember the man.

At Jensen's request, Jared _undazed_ their guest.

It had happened almost two thousand years before the birth of his lifemate, but Jared's fate had been foretold with a most astounding accuracy. His heart's greatest desire, divined.

Reclining on the bed, Jared watched in lazy amusement as that desire stalked a terrified, screaming Lady Sandy.


End file.
